


Boy's Telegram

by ViscountessAberowen



Category: Century Trilogy - Ken Follett, Winter of the World - Ken Follett
Genre: Angst, Gen, tw: death of a sibling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViscountessAberowen/pseuds/ViscountessAberowen
Summary: "It was what every family dreaded those days." Or how Daisy Fitzherbert (neé Peshkov) found out about Boy's death.
Relationships: Andy Fitzherbert & Daisy Peshkov
Kudos: 3





	Boy's Telegram

**Author's Note:**

> More missing scenes in WotW. Lots of angst, and it's from Andy's PoV, so tw for sibling death

It was what every family dreaded those days. 

When the butler entered the room with a tray carrying the morning post, and an anguished expression instead of his usual air of obliged politeness, Andy knew it. He needn’t look at the telegram his, nor did he pay any attention to May’s hand now firmly grasping his.

Andy felt inexplicably calm. It was far from a reassuring calmness, it felt oppressing, as if the world had suddenly stopped and he was the only one still living it at its normal speed. 

His father must have felt similarly, for he cleared his throat, and in a voice too steady to be true, he told Andy, “I must see your mother at once.”

Impulsed by his father’s words, Andy’s world stammered into life again. His mother had probably just awoken. Princess Bea had been ecstatic when Andy and his family had shown up for a surprise visit at the Earl’s London home. Mother had longed to spend more time with her children (and grandchildren), especially after Daisy had left Boy…

Boy… A surge of emotion constricted Andy’s throat. He couldn’t stay sitting down. Boy was dead. His big brother was no more! He needed to move, to do something… anything. 

His chair rattled against the floor as he got up, his manner clumsier than he would have wanted.

“Excuse me,” he said automatically. May made to follow, but Andy shook his head to stop her. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

He kept himself from running out of the room, once in the hall he sprinted up the main staircase, almost colliding with his father on the second floor.

Clearly, Father hadn’t yet broken the news to his wife, for Mother appeared bemused at the sudden commotion. A single glimpse at their faces was all it took for her to realise something was wrong. 

Papa led her by the hand towards a chair, but she stood trembling instead.

“Tell me what’s going on!” She said.

Papa looked broken. Andy had never seen his stoic father express such despair. “A telegram came from the War Office.” He started slowly.

Andy wondered why nobody had thought to call ahead. Father was an important man, and a Member of Parliament, a bloody Earl, surely someone would have spared a minute to inform him of his first son’s death!

Andy’s unexpected anger evaporated when she saw his mother’s eyes flood with tears.

“No,” she whispered. “No. Don’t say such things, Fitz!”

Papa cleared his throat again, Andy could see his eyes gleaming too. “I’m very sorry.” The Earl’s voice broke. Andy couldn’t take it anymore. 

He was vaguely aware of his mother locking herself in her room, of the muffled, inhuman cries he heard from her, of his father sliding down to the floor on his side of the door, putting his face on his hands.

Andy walked slowly down the stairs, as if in trance… May was waiting for him, he took her hand, seeking her comfort. He needed the familiarity of his wife.

He was reminded of Daisy, who for better or for worse —or due to Boy’s stubbornness— was still his sister-in-law. How awful would it be should she learn the news from a newspaper instead of being told by one of Boy’s relatives.

“I’m going out,” Andy decided.

“I’ll go with you,” May offered.

“I’d like to walk alone,” he said, giving her hand a soft squeeze. 

He heard a distinct patter of small feet on the carpet before his children materialised on either side of their mother.

“What’s happened?” His eldest asked. 

Andy stared at them. Children were innocent. They wouldn’t understand, at least not fully, what was going on. They were old enough to know what death meant, but not to understand the implications of it. 

Andy would never see Boy again, never tease his big brother for being drunk at ten in the morning, never share his fears and triumphs like they had always done. 

In five or ten years time, his own children would have forgotten their Uncle Boy.

Andy felt his lungs close on him again. He took an unsteady step towards the closest wall. The butler hurried to bring him a coat, and offer a supporting arm.

He accepted the coat but refused his assistance, instead he shoved the door open with trepidation. He wanted to be out of the house he had shared with his dead brother.

Andy had to make an effort to remember Daisy’s new address. A flat in Piccadilly. Boy had once told him where exactly it was, and he himself had once almost gone to one of her not-really-clandestine parties. 

He found himself breathing better halfway through Mayfair. By the time he’d finally found the bloody place, had cleared his throat four or five times, he had been able to tell the doorman who he was here to see.

The lift wasn’t on the ground floor, and Andy thought he might lose his nerve if he stopped moving. Climbing three floors wasn’t extenuating exercise, but felt breathless all the same as he knocked on his sister-in-law’s door. 

The maid who greeted him, a young girl of about 15 or 16, gave Andy an interested onceover before she went off to find her employer. 

Andy’s eyes wandered through Daisy’s small flat until the maid returned with a disheveled Daisy in tow.

“Oh, Andy?” She sounded surprised to see him standing in her living room. “When Maisie told me there was a Fitzherbert at the door, I expected your brother!”

Andy felt the weight of his brother’s death hit him at full force. His vision swam before him, forcing him to lower himself heavily into one of Daisy’s armchairs. 

“Maisie!” He heard Daisy cry. “Bring some water! And some strong coffee, too!”

“It’s all right,” he tried to reassure her. “I’ll only be staying a minute.”

Andy found it hard to breathe again. Curse his soft emotions! He had known —they all had— that Boy’s life had been at a terrible risk the moment he had signed up to the RAF.

Daisy —kind, caring Daisy, whose only sin had been doing what Andy knew his brother had done hundreds of times— was still fretting over him.

“Boy is dead.” Andy announced. His voice wasn’t steady to begin with but there was a rather embarrassing crack on the last word. It mattered not, the message had been received. 

Daisy covered her mouth with her hand. She back-stepped against the couch and let herself fall ungracefully into it.

She didn’t say anything. Andy assumed many emotions were running wild around her mind. He couldn’t bear the silence, though.

“A telegram arrived at Father’s house.” He explained. “It should’ve been given to you. I expect Boy…” he tried to inhale some oxygen into his uncooperative lungs. “He must have changed his next of kin. But I thought… I thought you deserved to know.”

The maid brought the coffee, and a glass of water. Seeing her discomfort, Daisy broke out of her reverie.

“Maisie,” she said. “Will you give us a minute?”

The girl obeyed with a muttered acknowledgment. 

“I’m sorry to hear this,” Daisy said to him. She took one of his hands into both of hers. “Despite the way Boy and I have treated each other in the past, I know how much he meant to you… and you to him. I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.”

Andy noted she was crying, and not without shame, he realised he hadn’t managed to keep his eyes dry either. He doubted Daisy would think less of him because of it.

He stood up and wiped his face with his sleeve —not very elegant, he knew—.

“I felt like we should tell you personally,” Andy said. 

She stood up, steadier than he was, “Thank you.”

Daisy wrapped her arms around Andy hesitantly. He threw etiquette out of the window and hugged her back tightly. 

He composed himself after a long moment. 

“Forgive me for having ruined your morning,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she repeated quietly.

“I’ll show myself out.” He said. Andy felt another emotion run through his veins. This was probably the last time he’d ever talk to Daisy. There wasn’t anything that connected them anymore, and Father wouldn’t care to have her present in the memorial ceremony. Their few mutual friends would be careful not to have them bump into each other.

“Goodbye Daisy,” he added.

“Goodbye,” she said. 

Andy’s last impression of his sister-in-law, now Dowager Viscountess —possibly Mrs Williams soon, if rumours and Boy’s incessant complaining were right— was that of an upset girl in her bed clothes staring vacantly at nothing in particular. 

On his way back home, Andy made himself presentable, straightening his clothes, trying to dry his eyes with the biting morning air. 

In the house, his parents were already making arrangements for Boy’s wake. They both looked composed and in control of their emotions. Andy knew better, though. He saw his father’s broken expression, his mother’s slightly-too-quick breathing. He knew they would never be all right, not completely. None of them would.


End file.
